"My sister? Veta?" Sanford Hall sounded vague about it. "How would I know, Pike? I guess she must have slipped away."
Without another word, he turned to go. But as he did so, the blazing lights focussed on the cruiser fell full into his eyes.
Ross breathed in sharply: the glaze, the distortion of iris and of pupil—they could belong to no one save a starak addict in the last stages of his vice.
"The transor, Mr. Thigpen—"
Ross said, "Thanks, Adjudicator. This takes care of me nicely. I'll find my own quarters."
Without waiting for response, he pressed the first button that came beneath his finger on the selector.
The transor surged forward. Leaning back, Ross checked his pocket for the form Mawson had given him.
Two pieces of paper rattled in his fingers. Frowning, he drew them out.
The first was Mawson's form.
The second, a note-sheet, bore only a name and address: Veta Hall, 417D Esrach Unit.